Rock Revenge: Rockstar Romantic Suspense (Rock Revenge Trilogy Book 1)
Page 2
The connecting door to Nick and Lila’s room was still open and she heard their manager’s soft yet clipped voice. Lila was her best friend too, but she was definitely in full-on work mode right now. Margo peeked around the door. Lila waved her in then held up her finger to let her know it would be a minute. Margo smoothed her hand down her clingy black stage skirt.
Nick was sitting at the small table on the far side of the room, his fingers flying over his phone. She sat down across from him. “Please tell me what the hell happened.”
Nick sighed. “You want it straight or the Rice Krispie treat version?”
“Since when did I need anything sugar-coated?”
“Some dude was on one of those American Idol-type shows and he looked like Simon. Even had his last name. Ian Kagan.” Nick spun his phone on the table. “Truthfully, there was an uncanny vibe between them. Probably a handful of years younger than our idiot.”
“Brother?”
Nick shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”
Helpful as always. Margo glanced at Lila. “She’s looking into it?”
“Yeah. A little tough since most of her contacts are US-based, but we do have our ace in the hole.”
Margo quirked her eyebrow.
“Lord Lewis. All of the British there, right?”
“Yeah, that’s true. She’s got him on the line now?” At Nick’s nod, Margo looked at her watch. “Bit late at home.”
“The dude doesn’t sleep. He likes to cultivate that vampire thing, man.”
Margo laughed. Shocked that she could laugh when everything inside her was twisted and confused. She could barely wrap her mind around the idea of family and Simon. He’d been hers for what felt like forever, even though it had only been a few short years. She wasn’t sure how she felt about another Kagan out there.
She slid her hand back under the table and across her belly.
In any iteration.
Nick nodded to her. “Got your phone?”
She moved her hand into the pocket of her sweater and drew out her cell. “Yes.”
Nick used the Airdrop feature on his phone and shared a YouTube clip. “Take a look.”
She lowered the volume in deference to Lila’s call and hit play. The moody setting made the hairs on the back of her neck raise. The man in the shadows was tall and lanky with a wildness to his hair. It wasn’t a kinky curl, more of a playful wave of hair in a permanent state of flyaways. Thick and fine in a way that only men could pull off in such a careless style. A woman would look unkempt and shabby. This man-child was nothing but sinewy muscle and endless black clothing with…was that a poet’s shirt? His cheekbones were high and angular, echoing her husband.
Even without knowing this man might be a blood relation, there was no denying they had a similar look. But it was the eyes that were the final hammer.
Simon’s eyes.
A little softer, hungrier, a touch more shrewd in the way he played to the crowd.
Simon did it for the joy, while this Ian person was almost calculating. He knew how to smile and adjust his voice until the crowd lost their damn minds. Especially the women.
Her skin tingled with goose bumps. “Dear God.”
“Obviously, there’s no God if we have another damn Kagan on this planet. Isn’t one enough?”
She snapped her gaze to Nick, her fingernails white from her grip on the phone. “You have a Kagan sitting across from you.”
“You married into the name. Still think you’re insane there, but you know, your choice.” Nick stood up. “So you can see why his nuts are in a knot. I tried to talk to him about it, but he’s all ragey baby tiger. Thought you should see what you’re in for.”
She grabbed Nick’s wrist. “Do you think he’s related?”
Nick’s golden gaze drilled her into the seat with its worry and anger. He might act indifferent, but it was far from the truth. “If he’s not, he’s some crazy cousin somewhere, because that kid?” He nodded to her phone as Ian hit a note that made her swallow hard. “He’s a damn carbon copy of Simon as a teen.”
So much like Simon before. Before he blew out his voice, only there was just a touch more…polish, maybe? Like he’d had lessons from the damn cradle. All the things that Simon hadn’t been afforded.
Now he had the knowledge and the training, but he was forever behind the curve because there’d been damage to work around. And he’d done it brilliantly. She couldn’t be more proud of the darkness Simon had pulled himself out from underneath. But there was a piece of him that had been lost.
No matter how hard he worked, there was a small bit of something he pulled back and kept close to his heart. The child who had been beaten and verbally abused all his life still held a slice of himself away, even from her. And also from the stage that had stolen the very thing he loved with a purity he would never own up to.
She glanced back down at Ian Kagan with his perfect voice, perfect smile, and the swell to his chest, thanks to the adulation of the crowd. Again, so much like Simon when he was high off the feedback from the fans.
“Turn that douchehat off.”
Margo swiveled in her chair and clicked off her phone at Simon’s rage-filled face. She rose and crossed the room to him. “Li is on the phone.”
“I could give two fucks.”
“Simon.” The warning tone made his face go stony. He backed out of Nick and Lila’s room and back to theirs. Margo sighed. “We’re going to head over to the venue.”
Nick nodded. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She rushed into their room and closed the door. “Simon. Don’t take it out on them.”
“Who the fuck should I take it out on?”
“Not me either.”
He fisted his hands at his sides. Anger vibrated off him like an overplucked string.
She didn’t think twice. Once upon a time, his fury would have dissuaded her. She would have left him to figure it out and calm down. But that wasn’t their way.
Not anymore.
She crossed the room and curled her arms around his waist, locking her hands at his back until they were touching from thigh to chest. She hooked her chin over his shoulder and simply held onto him.
He didn’t want to break.
Holding onto his anger was easier than feeling anything else.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You don’t know he’s your brother for sure.” She hugged him tighter when he simply stood there like a damn statue. She’d wait him out.
Finally, his arms came around her, crushing her tight. “What the fuck, Violin Girl? What the flying fuck?”
“I don’t know. Li will figure it out. You know she will.”
He pressed his cheek against the side of her head before bringing his hands up to cup her face and drag her mouth to his. His kiss was rough and still bursting with anger, but she took it. Swallowed it down until it spun out into that indefinable space between love and lust that sustained them through every rough patch they had to face.
The temptation to take him into the carnal realm where they could literally fuck it out swamped her. It would be easier to pop the bubble of intensity between them and let the orgasms whisk it away, but they didn’t have enough time for that.
Not when they’d need the extra time to figure out how to deal with this news.
She lifted her hands to bracelet his wrists and forced herself to calm his needs. To bring the kiss back down from a landslide of emotions, to softness and safety. He followed her. It took an extra minute for her to reach him, but he finally pulled away from her.
“Tell me what to do,” he whispered against her lips.
“Bring it to the stage. Show everyone that this poser isn’t even a tenth as talented as you are. Not that it even matters. We’ve never heard of him before. No one else would have either.”
He threaded his fingers through the heavy fall of hair that wouldn’t curl no matter what she did. He bunched it at the base of her skull, tipping her head back just a touch so their
eyes met. And held. “You’ll do it with me?”
“Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”
His blue eyes blazed. “London doesn’t know what they’re in for tonight.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” The little pinch of pain made her nipples tighten and her skin prickle for a whole new reason. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d asked for him to unleash tonight.
He slid his hand down to lace with hers, dragging her to the door. “Let’s get to the venue.”
She wasn’t sure London was ready for it.
Hell, she wasn’t sure she was.
Three
The arena felt and smelled like a sauna. A thousand different perfumes and colognes wafted up from the crush of people jammed up against the barricades of Shepherd’s Bush Empire. It may have a new name, The O2 Empire, but it would always be Shepherd’s Bush to the people of London.
The lower level was general admission. Each venue had a different flavor, of course, but one thing remained the same. These people were used to queuing up for shows. Fans from the United Kingdom didn’t seem to push and shove like an American crowd, but they were no less intense.
And tonight, they were soaking up the beast who was her husband.
Simon flew from one end of the stage to the other as he belted out the lyrics to “The Becoming” with a fervor she hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t modulate his voice as he usually did. Instead, he opened up his lungs and sang the holy hell out of the one song he used to be afraid of.
They put “The Becoming”, their biggest hit, at the beginning of the setlist unlike most bands. There had been a reason behind it once upon a time. The trauma of the song outweighed the tradition of leaving it to the encore. Instead, for Oblivion, it became the measurement of how a show would go down.
Tonight was off to a ripping start.
Margo sawed her bow across her strings as her solo part heated up. She moved to center stage and raced through the notes. She fed off Simon as much as the crowd did. He monkeyed his way up the amplifiers at the side of the stage to the second tier balcony and slapped hands before making his way back to the band. Back to her.
She could practically hear Lila having a fit backstage. Safety protocols were for the weak—at least that was what Simon would say.
It had been a damn long time since Margo had seen him pull a stunt like that.
He crouched low and slapped hands with a few people in the front row before he swung that intense focus to her. She swallowed against the heat blasting at her, both from the venue and the pheromones coming at her from her livewire husband.
He stalked her across the stage. The thrill down her spine had her taking a step back. It seemed to only incite him to chase. Her heart throbbed with the music and the look in his eye as he caught her close. He jerked at her skirt until he could slip his thigh between hers.
The screams from the crowd fell away the moment Simon put his hands on her. Always.
She did her best to match the speed of the song. To follow Deacon and Gray as she normally did.
Only she couldn’t keep up.
The stage lights went down and a spotlight glowed as bright as the sun for a moment before slowly fading into a pulse of hazy purple. No matter how fast she dragged up and down the strings with her bow, it didn’t seem like enough. Her arms burned at the near manic pace as shedded strings from her bow floated around them. Lighters and phones glowed out of the darkness as the overhead lights twirled blue and red.
Jazz’s drums matched her heartbeat.
This hadn’t been in the rehearsal, but their lighting guy on the overseas leg of their tour was amazing. Old school in a way they hadn’t utilized since their first tour. He followed the drama and the tone of the show. He didn’t program the lights with a computer.
No, Bernie was masterful in a way only people with years of experience could pull off. And no one even thought to argue with him. Not when the results were so perfect night after night. This was the second show in this venue.
The last one had been full of fun and laughter. Simon had been a rock.
But tonight?
Safety and stability were long gone.
She pulled her violin away from her face, dropping her arm to her side as her chest heaved. Her breasts were pressed to his bare chest. Simon had lost his shirt after the first verse, for God’s sake. His usual cinnamon scent seemed even more powerful. As if his pores were overflowing with the very essence of him.
It made her insane. He made her insane.
The crowd went mad around them. Normally, she couldn’t hear them around the monitors in her ears. The noise distracted her too much. But tonight, it was a roar.
Simon glanced up to the balconies high above them. He didn’t let her go. In fact, his thigh pushed her legs farther apart as he studied the three levels of people packed into the old building full of history.
She tried to pull herself together, but her heart was trying to jump out of her damn chest. Perhaps through her bullet-like nipples.
“Look at that, Violin Girl. For you. For us. Let me hear you scream.” Simon held out his microphone to the crowd, but he was talking to her. There was no doubt about it. She would be the one screaming tonight, that she knew.
The drums slowed before building. As if the band knew they needed to spin the song out. There was nothing but them at that moment. His cock was hard against her thigh as he slowly rocked against her.
Simon crowded in closer to her. He worked his fingers into the twist she always wore on stage. Her hair fell like a blanket around her shoulders and snaked down into her corset. He dragged her head back and drew his nose lightly up the column of her neck before his lips traced the line of her jaw to her ear.
“If I could, I’d fuck you right now. Even with all these people.”
She shivered, but couldn’t say a damn thing. They played up their chemistry on stage, but nothing like this. He moved to her lips and gave her half a second to pull back. He stole kisses—he was Simon, after all—but this wasn’t a kiss.
It was a branding.
The sting of his grip on her hair and the quick snake of his tongue left her unbalanced and so hot for him she wasn’t sure she would actually say no if he pressed the issue.
The spotlight went out around them and Simon pulled back. His chest heaved as he slipped away from her and the lighting rig exploded with light and pinwheel sparks as he raced into the climax of the song.
When her heart stopped thudding in her brain, she backed up to Jazz’s drum riser and took a sip from her water. The crowd went crazy and Simon lapped it up like a beacon of energy. He dropped to his knees in the center of the stage, arching back with both hands on his mic as he finished the song. The note he held made her drop her bow.
“Holy Jesus.”
Jazz stood up behind her kit and let out a whoop.
Simon jumped to his feet and threw out an audible. Nick and Deacon scrambled up to the front of the stage at Simon’s unexpected setlist change.
“What the hell got into him?” Gray asked under his breath as he rushed over to Nick.
“That fucker,” Nick muttered as he came back to her at the drums. “I’m not sure whether I want to kiss that kid or kill him. I haven’t played this song in years.”
Margo didn’t need to know what kid he was talking about.
Jazz frowned, but immediately fell into the opening beat of “All Or Nothin’” from Tom Petty. She instinctively followed Gray and Nick’s dueling guitars as they screamed out into the crowd.
Simon hooked his microphone into his stand and switched to the box mic set up for later in the setlist. It had a feedback option perfect for the song. Simon gripped the mic stand like a lover, and the crowd lapped up his over-sexed version of the Petty classic.
Again, he reached for the edges of his vocal limits. Stepping over by millimeters before pulling back. He turned away from the mic and coughed into his elbow before withdrawing to take a sip from his water.
She couldn’t say she minded. Neither did her damn hormones. For the love of…well, anything as far away from holy as possible, she was ready to climb out of her skin.
She made her way to her station just behind Gray and tried to concentrate on the setlist.
Simon didn’t hijack it again for nearly a solid hour. Until they moved into the acoustic portion of the night. This was where anything could go off the rails. Most nights had been safe.
Most.
Not tonight.
Simon moved across the stage in the dark and slung his arm around Nick’s neck to drag him closer to say something in his ear. The front of the crowd could still see them and lost their marbles. As ever, when it came to Nick and Simon, the women were often enamored to a crazy degree.
When he was done with Nick, he zeroed in on her.
He crooked his finger. Part of her wanted to break it, but there was always a stronger part of her that couldn’t resist that cocky lead singer forever lurking under Simon’s skin. She could honestly say she’d missed it—missed that version of him—for a damn long time.
Was this in response to Ian?
And would it ultimately do more harm than good?
The concerned wife side of her wanted to soothe and ask questions.
The hot-blooded woman who’d tossed sense to the wind when she hooked up with this man-child wanted to feed off of it. Wanted it to fill her up until she was screaming.
She let her violin hang by her side as she slowly moved toward him. The murmurs between the band rose, and the moody drums kicked her heart into overdrive. At the fringes of her periphery, she noticed Gray move behind Jazz on the ramp. His sultry guitar filled the room. Nick layered his grittier playing over it until the sound resonated in a bastardized choir that only Oblivion could create.
The audience went nuts when they recognized the song.
It wasn’t one of those songs that took the world by storm, but it was powerful. And Simon’s box mic filled his hand as he dragged her into a dreamy dance. The lights shifted into that smoky blue as he sang the song to her.